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Mr. Santa Claus
by Joseph C. Lincoln
He isn’t so mysterious-like
as once he used to be;
His doin’s ain’t so wonderful
as once they were to me;
The stories of his reindeer team
a-whizzin’ down the hill
Don’t give me, like they used to do,
that lovely, shiv’ry thrill:
Perhaps I know him better now,
or, maybe, not so well,
And p’raps, as in some other things,
the years have broke the spell;
Old Time, I’m ‘fraid, has drawn away
the curtains and the qauze,
I see him plain-but love him yet-
Old Mr. Santa Claus.
The night that brings the Christmas in
is short as others now,
And doesn’t last a million years
as once it did, I vow;
The wind that blows on Christmas Eve
around the chimney flue,
And rattles bits of plaster down,
ain’t him a’scramblin’ through;
The rustle down along the eaves,
the patter on the roof,
Is just the snow or rain and
not a prancin’ little hoof;
That queer small nowise off in the dark
is just a mouse that gnaws,
And not you tuggin’ at your pack-
Old Mr. Santa Claus.
I know what’s in the stockin’s now
afore I go to sleep;
And ain’t afraid you’ll take it back
if I should dare to peep;
The Christmas trees ain’t trimmed
no more with silver lace and gold,
It’s only tinsel paper now,
and I know where it’s sold.
But, all the same, I swear by you,
as does this little chap
That comes to have your story told
and curl up in my lap.
In spite of age, and common-sense,
and books, and facts, and laws,
I know you come ’round every year-
Old Mr. Santa Claus.
You come to give this hard old world
one hearty, kindly shove
That wakes it from its dreams of cash
to fairy tales and love.
You come to move the wheels of work
from out their grindin’ rut,
And open wide the pocketbooks that,
other times, were shut;
To brighten up the childish hearts,
and lighten old ones, too,
And make the rich and poor, for once,
be brother, thanks to you.
And so when you come on your rounds
I’ll lead the glad applause,
And say, “God bless you!” till I die-
Old Mr. Santa Claus.
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